Cargo
by Asidian
Summary: A poorly timed surveillance mission lands Janaff on a ship carrying exactly the sort of merchandise his king had feared: the live variety.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I can't believe I wrote this. I promised myself I wouldn't write this. Dammit. -sheepish look-

If it gets longer than four parts, hit me. Five parts, put me out of my misery. And if you think you know where I'm going with this... there's ahigh chance that you're right. -nervous laugh-

I don't own any aspect of FE and make no money from this. Like anyone's surprised.

* * *

Cargo

* * *

"There's gonna be a storm," Janaff remarked casually, glancing back the way they'd come.

Clouds were gathering above the horizon to the south, an ominously bruised shade of purple, and the sea was beginning to shift restlessly under stronger winds. In spots, it had already begun to rain; Janaff could see the ripples that the droplets made as they hit the water.

"Oh?" Ulki asked, tone distant. He did not even turn to gauge the extent of the impending fit of weather, gaze focused instead upon the ship that appeared to him as little more than a distant black smudge on the water.

"Just thought you should know," Janaff said. And then, as he turned his attention back toward the object of their surveillance: "There's another beorc on the deck, now. Big guy, plain clothes. No armor." The hawk fell silent for a moment, watching. "Looks pissed about something. It's pretty funny, actually, the way he's waving his arms around."

Though the older laguz could no more pick out the motion on the deck than Janaff could overhear the ongoing conversation, he kept his sights trained steadily on the ship. "Some of their cargo has gone missing," he informed his partner, words low and even.

Murky green eyes flickered to the grim expression that had crept onto those angular features. "Any word on what they're carrying?"

"Not yet," Ulki replied.

They were silent a moment more, watching and listening; the wind picked up around them, tousling hair and ruffling feathers. Far below, the water began to cap into tips of foam, restless and dark.

"New guy's headed back below deck," Janaff said at length. It was not a terribly bright day, but he lifted one hand, regardless, to shield the stormy light from his eyes. It was a gesture of habit more than necessity. "Everyone else is going crazy, running all over the place."

Ulki nodded once, absently. "He's having them search the ship." A pause; a tightening of those thin lips. "The merchandise was expensive."

There was an edge to the words, subtle and dangerous. Not that Janaff blamed him, if the ship was carrying what they expected it to be.

Because Begnion's apostle had made progress since the war had ended, certainly- but a lot of beorcs had a lot of money tied up in the slave trade, and old habits died hard. To say that Janaff was proud of his king wanting to help that death along- well. That wouldn't have done the feeling justice.

It was the gust of wind that reminded Janaff about the worry that had flitted earlier through his mind- not a simple breeze, but something strong enough to make both hawks flap double-time to stay in place.

He half-turned, glancing back toward the south to check on the progress of the storm.

"Hey," the younger laguz said, and put a hand on his partner's arm. "Hey- we gotta go."

Ulki's eyes didn't leave the ship. "We still don't know for sure."

If Janaff hadn't understood the frustration that lay carefully hidden below those words, he might have been irritated by the delay. Instead, the edge that laced his response was more nerves than anger. "We're already cutting it close."

It was the tone that caught Ulki's attention- turned his head to follow his companion's gaze. Dark eyes, usually so hard to read, widened almost imperceptibly. "When did…?"

There was a flash of a grin, sharp and not entirely at ease. "Came on quick, didn't it?"

And indeed the storm had.

What had been a small patch of darkness, threatening at the corner of the sky, had swept out over the sea; it churned the waves beneath it, and even as they watched, an arc of light flickered amidst the blackness and was gone.

Janaff saw reluctance in his companion's expression, but a second more and it was gone- eclipsed, as the older hawk's personal opinions usually were, by the course that logic dictated.

"Let's go," Ulki said.

Almost before the words had left his mouth, pale skin was being replaced by feathers, and Janaff followed not far behind, slipping as easily as his partner into a form better equipped for the speed that they needed. The pair wheeled as one, cut through the air as a shark cuts through water- powerful and graceful, something at once both beautiful and deadly.

That those massive wings struggled against the wind they bore their owners into served to leave little doubt in either hawk's mind as to the sheer _force_ behind the storm- or the depth of the threat that it presented. For as they retraced their path back toward Phoenicis, it became clear all too quickly that, however fast their progress, the squall would outdistance them to land.

Not only that, but it was rushing out to greet them.

They prepared as best they could for the moment that their flight would meet the clouds. Tightened up the muscles in their wings, lowered their heads, braced for the touch of rain against dry feathers.

Perhaps, had their previous surveillance position allowed them someplace to rest, it might have been enough.

But the wind struck with the force of something physical, and wings that were beginning to ache from hours already aloft shuddered under the strain of it. As one, they wavered- and with a hand as capricious as a child's, nature batted them apart, two massive creatures of the skies tossed carelessly aside.

Janaff wheeled hard to one side in an attempt to stay upright, wings beating furiously against the raw strength pressing in on him. In vain, he attempted to aim himself back toward Phoenicis- into the wind- and was very nearly ripped from the sky, spun half-around before his body seemed to register the efforts of his wings and right itself.

It was only then, thoughts reeling with the realization that he might not be able to make land, that he noticed his partner was gone.

It came with a sweeping chill of shock, and for the space of several seconds, the hawk's wings struggled frantically to keep him in place, to keep him still so that he could search. It was impossible to tell anything at all, though, with the clouds pressing in around him, dark and heavy, cutting his vision to a fraction of what it ought to be.

The wind rattled against him again, harsh and unforgiving, even as his mind recognized the fact that, if he didn't get himself turned around, he would be stranded over open water. At very least, he ought to be making progress- as Ulki must be.

As Ulki _should_ be.

The cry bubbled up unbidden from within him- it was the call of a hawk, shrill and piercing, a sound that carried far and clear on a calm day.

But the storm stole it from him as it left his beak, reduced the noise to something insignificant, and he knew, even as a new gust of wind set him struggling frantically to stay aloft, that it had gone unheard. In the roar of the squall, Ulki's ability would doubtless be as useless as his own.

It was an alarming notion, and one that Janaff didn't have time for.

Because the wind had him at its mercy- drove pounding rain against his back, caught ceaselessly at his tail feathers. Every new flurry forced him along with it; fighting would mean being crushed, or swept aside, or perhaps toppled into the stormy, dark waters that he knew were somewhere below.

Time had no meaning. Minutes became measured only in the steadily worsening ache in his wings and the deeper, slower exhaustion that had descended beneath it- a warning that he wouldn't be able to maintain his animal form indefinitely.

So intent was Janaff upon simply surviving that when the impact came, it took him by surprise.

The wind wrenched him backwards, harsh and sudden, and the blow came from behind. There was a shuddering crack that the hawk felt more than heard, and then a wall of pain was splintering out through his right wing, sparking in the base of his skull.

It was sharp enough to steal the breath from his body, paralyzing in its intensity. Those massive wings refused for several seconds to work at all, and before he could correct the problem- before he could _think_, beyond the pain- he was tumbling downward, falling past the object that the storm had crushed him up against.

The shape of it registered as those murky green eyes focused dizzily- tall and proud, the swirls of the wood prominent, dark.

The wind must have changed directions, Janaff's mind suggested faintly, as it hovered on the verge of greying out. How else could he have hit a tree?

It was his last thought as he came crashing to the deck below, rain-drenched feathers giving way to skin once more.

-end part 1-


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: And it continues. I'm not sure whether I should be proud of that. -sheepish smile-

Warnings: Janaff abuse.

* * *

Cargo- Chapter 2

* * *

The sky after the storm was a restless one, littered with a reluctant grey light and the last few trailing bits of blackened cloud.

Ulki watched it from between the branches of the tree he'd taken shelter under, trying hard not to overanalyze the sounds of the world stirring back to life around him.

It was a failed effort, of course; every motion loud enough to be deliberate caught his ears.

The first few wingbeats of a bird he deemed too small to be his partner were taken in by the scrutiny, as were the footsteps of something that careful attention revealed could only reasonably have four legs. Because unlikely as it usually was for Janaff to be walking, today the consideration was one that couldn't be set aside entirely. It was possible, after all, that the younger hawk was simply too tired to fly.

Having experienced the blind fury of the storm himself, it was a feeling that Ulki understood well.

After all, it had been a long time since the king's ears had been exhausted enough to struggle in order to remain standing, but that was the point to which his reserves had been drained. Toward the end, it had been all he could manage to keep aloft, much less determine which direction he ought to be going.

The thought had occurred to him more than once, since landing, that he'd managed to find shelter not through skill or power, but by stroke of raw, unthinking luck. It was an unsettling notion, and not only because Ulki had once told his partner, matter-of-factly, that the role of fortune in daily life was a negligible one and to believe otherwise was a trifle irresponsible.

Janaff had laughed at him, of course- an easy, good-natured sort of sound- but that dismissal so long ago did little to alleviate the part that understood how easy it would have been to be swallowed by the storm.

For either of them.

It was with a reluctant slowness that Ulki at last acknowledged the fact that he truly did need to rest before attempting any sort of search. Restlessness aside- worry aside- he knew logically that if Janaff had survived, the younger hawk must have found shelter somewhere. That he would be safe for now, until one or both of them had recovered enough to seek the other out.

And besides, Ulki reasoned as he settled grudgingly amidst the tree roots, as long as he kept his ears well open, he could search for his partner as effectively from the ground as from the air.

Pain came with the first glimmers of consciousness, a deep, slow throb that made his head feel as though it had been split in two.

It was a hurt sharp enough that, for the first several seconds, Janaff couldn't find the strength to be aware of anything beyond it. He simply lay still, eyes closed, and acknowledged faintly that every time his heart beat, he could feel the pulse in the tremendous chasm that must be running through his skull.

In a distant, half-awake sort of fashion, he wondered whether Ulki would be able to scoop his brains up for him, and if it was likely they'd find a beorc that could use a staff in time to get them properly back in his head. Before he'd determined an adequate answer for himself, however, the surrounding world had decided that it wanted to intrude its way into the pain.

The sound that broke through into his musings was of someone shouting- a deep, angry bellow, muffled by what Janaff could only assume to be distance.

And like it had pulled back some invisible curtain, the noise jolted him the rest of the way into awareness. All at once, he was conscious of the freezing wet of both clothes and feathers; of the fact that he was lying on his wings, and that one was screaming protest at him; of his arms, folded awkwardly beneath his back and aching from the strange position; of the ground below, hard and wooden, shifting in a rhythm that couldn't quite be called steady.

"Ow," Janaff croaked quietly. In that instant, he decided that however much his head hurt, it was worth moving it in order to get the weight off his wing.

The hawk opened his eyes reluctantly- shifted so that he could shove himself into a sitting position.

And discovered a moment later that neither sight nor arms seemed willing to obey.

Because the only thing that greeted his vision was blackness, punctured here and there by tiny slits of grey light, and a dim ache in one shoulder was the sole sign that his limbs gave of having received the request to move.

For several seconds, he lay blinking blankly up at the darkness that greeted him, uncomprehending. It occurred to him then, in a distant, unsettling sort of fashion, that this was a place he didn't know.

And crashing in the heels of that revelation came the memory of the storm.

The effort to rise held a hint of panic behind it this time- the drive of person who, waking from a nightmare, must sit up in bed in order to assure himself that it was only a dream.

But Janaff's arms refused him once more, with a sharp _tugging_ at the wrists, and he only made several inches off the floor before falling back, too weak to rise unsupported. The pain when his head connected with the ground again was staggering- and for a moment he simply lay still, gasping, as he waited for the world to settle back into a place from which he could manage it.

It was only after he could breathe without his skull feeling as though it was going to explode that the hawk set about his goal again- more cautiously, this time.

He tested his fingers first, folding and unfolding them slowly to make certain that they would do as instructed. They didn't seem to be in any pain; were functioning as usual, though they tingled pins and needles at the sudden activity, evidently displeased at having been trapped beneath him.

The wrists came next, a gentle rotation- and before they'd gotten very far, he felt the tug again, a pressure that put a stop to the motion entirely.

Janaff frowned vaguely up into the darkness. Began, gingerly, to feel along the wrist of one hand with the fingertips of the other, seeking out the source of the problem.

When he reached it, the hawk's eyes crept open wider, even as his fingers continued in their search: thick, coarse rope was wound around both of his wrists, a tangle of knots sealing it in place, and a smooth band of what felt like metal lay slightly higher than the ties on his left arm.

It was the voice drifting down to him again, a roar of a demand, that pushed the pieces neatly into the slots where they belonged.

"…that they jumped ship before a _storm_?" the man was bellowing. "Not even a sub-human is that stupid, you half-wit! Obviously the whole ship _hasn't_ been searched, or you'd have _found them_ already!"

Staring sightlessly up into the tiny grey slits of light, Janaff knew quite suddenly that the speaker was a big man, in plain clothes and with no armor.

The feeling when the hawk's stomach bottomed out had very little to with the unfamiliar motion of the ship.

-end chapter 2-


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Whew. This chapter kicked my ass. Putting it up before I can finish nitpicking it to death, even though I'm still unhappy with it. If it sits any longer, it'll stagnate. -makes face-

In any case, there's some violence in this chapter, so heads up- and of course, I own no characters from FE.

* * *

Cargo- Chapter 3

* * *

It was not, Janaff had thought, a terribly bad plan. Undoubtedly he'd come up with worse before.

In fact, there were more than a handful of occasions that came readily to mind, most of which involved Ulki informing him, in no uncertain terms, as to what precisely had gone wrong with them. And this, at least, had held the advantage of simplicity- an improvement, he'd thought, considering the _look_ his partner usually gave him when he admitted to the convolutions inserted into said plans for the sake of challenge over necessity.

The first step had gone smoothly enough.

It had involved simply lying still and gathering his strength- and though usually impatience would have made him restless, the hawk had been slightly unsettled to discover that it wasn't difficult at all to convince his body that sleep was preferential to the cold and damp and pain of being awake.

And so he'd rested. Recovered until the exhaustion weighing him down hadn't been quite so heavy, the pain in his head not quite so sharp.

Until he felt that, when the beorcs came to look in on him, he could put up a fight that would make them reconsider slaving altogether.

Because it was one thing, certainly, to bind him when he was in the form closer to the way beorcs looked. But it was quite stupid, in Janaff's mind, that they hadn't thought to tie any part of him that would carry over when he became a hawk. His hands might be useful enough before he'd transformed, after all- but when he didn't have them any more, all his captors would have left to show for the bindings would be a pile of knotted ropes at the ship's bottom.

And so he waited, and rested, and occasionally caught the muffled bellows of the man that his mind had come to recognize as responsible for this shipment. And found himself grinning into the darkness, despite himself, to discover that whatever other laguz they'd been carrying as cargo evidently _had_ jumped ship.

And when at last light flooded into the hold, illuminating a square of grey sky some distance away and the outline of steps leading downward, Janaff had held his breath and waited. Watched as the first of the men stepped down onto the stairs. Struggled hard not to translate the nervous energy that always flooded him before a battle into the tapping of a foot or something even more obvious.

The fact that there were only two of them was enough to bring the edges of an anticipatory smile to his lips, despite how he willed it away. The hawk couldn't count the number of times that Ulki had warned him never to underestimate his enemy, after all- and here were these men, wearing no armor, obligingly leaving the hatch wide open for him.

It seemed almost unfair.

But if cheating, Janaff conceded to himself, involved exploiting the stupidity of beorcs with all the moral sense of vultures, unfair he would be. And after he'd taken the two in the hold, all he'd have to do is clear the stairs- because, injured wing or no, they'd never catch him once he was out in open air.

They were talking to one another as they drew nearer, words too low for him to hear. The conversation gave him confidence all the same, though; if they were paying attention to each other, that meant they were paying _less_ attention to him.

But he waited, regardless, every muscle tense and ready, struggling to give no outward sign that he was conscious- waited until the both of them stood over him, looking down.

And when the first beorc moved as though to kneel, he struck.

It was an awkward blow, certainly. Janaff couldn't recall the last time he'd kicked someone, if ever. But his foot caught behind the man's knee, and an instant later, he was cursing as he hit the floor, caught off guard, his companion's attention stolen just as it was meant to have been.

A second was all it took for Janaff to push himself up to his knees, even bereft of his hands, and from there he had a brief, awkward struggle to regain his feet.

The beorc turned back toward him at about the same moment that his feet cleared the wood of the ship's bottom, wings beating hard against the stale air of the hold, aching with protest but holding him aloft. The other man was climbing to his feet, now, but that wasn't important- nothing was important, beyond the nudge that would transform him into something more than capable of showing the bastards exactly what he thought of them carrying live cargo.

Janaff drew a breath in, tasting the rush of an impending fight, and reached for the part of him that would send him tumbling into another form. For one trembling moment, everything hung in the balance.

And then he simply didn't change.

His hands remained knotted, unmoving, behind him, and the wings that were supposed to have become much more powerful remained as they were, one still unsteady and hurting from the impact with the mast. But more than that were the things that remained missing entirely- the talons that could have closed effortlessly into the beorcs' flesh, or the beak that would have made them hesitate, once they'd felt the force he could put behind it.

Astonishment came like a shock of icy water, spilling over him in the space between breaths.

And before he could comprehend- before he could even begin to process- a hand was reaching out for him, heedless of the fact that he should have been able to force it away, was closing around the messy remains of his bun and tugging, hard.

The pain and the shock and the unexpected _strength_ behind it stopped him cold- and in the next instant, the other hand had seized a wing, was _twisting_ in a way that made him give a hoarse cry, and before the hawk knew it his feet were on the ground once more, succumbing to the pressure.

"Oh, come on now," the man said, casually. "You didn't really expect us to let you do whatever you wanted. Right?"

The words didn't process. Janaff's mind was caught up in something much more important.

Because he ought to be able to do this. It was only _natural_ that he be able to do this. He wasn't exhausted, or terribly injured- there was nothing that should be stopping him.

Blindly, the hawk reached toward the part of him that had always made the shift in forms so effortlessly- and just as he teetered on the edge once more, a shivering almost-change that settled him back into a shape closer to that of a beorc, the man's words reached him.

"I mean, after all, sub-humans are useless unless they're animals."

Janaff stared up at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Quite suddenly, it felt as though breathing was something difficult, and he wondered, just for a second, if perhaps his ears had failed him. "What?"

The man was close enough that Janaff could see the smirk creeping up at the corners of his face, even in the dim lighting. "You think you lot are clever enough to come up with magic artifacts to stay like that indefinitely, but we can't do the opposite?" The hand still clenched in the hair loosened its grip, shifted instead to take his chin in a tight hold. "Presumptuous little fuck, aren't you?"

Hissing like a startled bird, Janaff jerked backward- was reminded, quite forcefully, of the fact that the other hand still had a crushing grip on one of his wings. Despite his efforts, the man leaned closer.

"Well, here's some news for you, sub-human: you've got a handy new bracelet that's gonna make sure your sharp edges are smoothed over." The hand on his wing-joint grew cruelly tighter, even as the thumb on his chin gentled up, turning the gesture into a mockery of a caress. "So until you're ready to take your hand off, don't bother putting up a fight. You'll just embarrass yourself."

Janaff didn't even bother a response to that; he did, instead, the only thing he could think _to_ do.

He bit the human bastard. Hard.

The result was instantaneous; the grip on both wing and face jerked suddenly backward as the man howled in pain, and the hawk grinned viciously even as he staggered, pleased to discover that he could taste blood in his mouth. "Embarrass myself?" he echoed, eyes innocently wide, lips closing over teeth to make the smile something closer to a smirk.

The expression lasted for all five seconds before one of those hands returned. It clenched in the front of his shirt, this time, and the other hardened into a fist, connecting with his mouth.

The force of the blow set his head to ringing; pain sparked, bright and hot, where it had landed, and quite suddenly there was more blood on his tongue than there had been before. For an alarming second, Janaff wasn't certain whether he'd have fallen if not for the hold on the collar of his shirt.

And then the second strike connected with his jaw, and he _knew_ he'd have fallen; it was strong enough to snap his head backward, grey out the dim lighting of the hold with tiny black dots.

Instinctively, he cringed away, bracing to be hit again- and opened one eye a moment later, cautiously, when the blow didn't come.

Because the other human was saying something now, tone sharp, words quick. He'd climbed back to his feet at some point, Janaff realized distantly, and was standing beside his companion. "Hey," he said. "_Hey_! Watch his face!"

It was with unmistakable reluctance that the instruction was heeded, fingers unclenching grudgingly from the front of Janaff's shirt.

The hawk was distantly surprised to discover that his legs didn't seem interested in stopping the fall; they gave out with an unsteady little wobble, and he hit the wood of the floor without the benefit of having his hands free to slow the impact.

"Fucker _bit_ me," the first man was growling. "You see this? Fucking _teeth_ marks."

Dimly, Janaff wished the light was good enough for _him_ to make out the teeth marks.

"So kick him in the side, or something," came the suggestion, off-handed. "Just leave his face out of it." A foot descended on his shoulder, then- pressed until the hawk gave a tiny gasp of pain, yielded, and rolled onto his back. In the darkness, the human leaned down to peer more closely at him. "He's too scrawny for labor. Won't get a decent price 'less someone thinks he's pretty. Y'know- puts him to use that way." The pressure on his shoulder increased as the man straightened up again.

"People are pretty sick," came the declaration, disgust making the words sharp. "Or desperate, if they want a fucking sub-human." He punctuated the words by taking the suggestion, landing a heavy, broad boot against Janaff's ribs.

The hawk clenched his teeth shut against the noise of pain that tried to escape- twisted on the floorboards, trying to squirm out from under the foot that still pinned him.

The second strike came before he could make any progress, however, a blow to his stomach that was more a stomp than a kick. The breathless cry that it wrenched from him wasn't something Janaff could hold back.

"Their money," the second human was saying, unconcerned. "They can do whatever the hell they want."

It wasn't until some time later, when the pain of the beating had begun to make him teeter on the edge of consciousness, that the pressure on his shoulder let up.

And if Janaff had made plans concerning the little square of light that led outside, he couldn't seem to recall what they were as he watched the silhouettes of the humans climb the stairs again.

-end chapter 3-


End file.
